Tristezza
by Solitary Shadow
Summary: All Romano wants is to feel loved and cared for. He doesn't understand why that's so difficult for him, especially considering that love is something Feliciano gets so much of. Light Germany x Italy, and also some Germany x Romano implied. Firstfic.
1. The Announcement

**Disclaimer:** Axis Powers Hetalia is not mine.

**Author's Note:** Hello there! This is my first fic in the Hetalia section. I've just come out of a bit of writer's block, so please be kind.

I've gotten into this fandom recently, and I must say that I am utterly obsessed with the Germany x Italy pairing. So cute :3 And most of the stuff I'll write for Hetalia will likely concern that pairing; this one is no exception, but with a small twist. As much as I love Feliciano, there is something about Romano that I find fascinating - so here is a little tribute for him. It's angsty, and contains strong hints of Germany x Romano. Basically, Romano struggles with his inferiority complex, with some rather unexpected consequences.

I think I just like seeing Romano suffer, really.

* * *

The more Romano thought about it, the more he hated the way things were.

This had been the second meeting that he'd been called to attend, only to be ignored for the most part - and worse, when someone asked him a question or addressed him, he had been referred to as just 'Romano'. It wouldn't have bothered him so damn _much_ had his brother been given the same treatment; but no, when it came to Feliciano, it was _Italy_ this and _Italy _that. Fair enough, Feliciano was a part of Italy all right. Romano didn't argue against that. But the other half of the country went unnoticed and forgotten all too often, and he had real problems with that.

If they were going to address them by country, Feliciano should be called 'North Italy' and Romano 'South Italy'. If being referred to by human name, _both_ of the brothers should be addressed in that manner. That was perfectly logical in the older brother's eyes, but he simply couldn't figure out why it was so hard for the others to follow that rule. This happened outside meetings as well, and quite frankly, Romano was sick of being treated as a separate identity from his younger brother. More than once he had to suppress urges to throw something at the offending nation(s) in question; he only held back because Germany was keeping order, and as much as he hated the man, Romano was intimidated. He wasn't about to mess so easily with Germany unless it concerned his younger brother.

And that was another thing Romano despised - how he was cast aside in favour of Feliciano, who was loved and cared for by so many nations. And just how many of those countries loved Romano? Only a handful, and the older brother doubted even that. His young, silly brother was looked after, teased fondly, taken out to dinner... whilst Romano stayed home. That wasn't fair at all. Spain came around occasionally, but these times were few and far between. Apart from that, he hardly could socialize.

But the worst thing was that it had been like that as long as the older brother could remember. When they were little and being kicked about by others, Feliciano had still been the talented one. He could draw, he took after Ancient Rome more, and he had been fondly treated by some (who'd been that boy who used to chase after Feliciano? - Holy Roman Empire, that was it). In short, his younger brother had been everything Romano could never be, and he still envied Feliciano for that. As stupid and silly as the younger Italy acted sometimes, he still was capable of so many things that the older one couldn't do; such as adapting to foreign cuisine, showing plain affection in public, and being honest with his feelings. No wonder everyone loved the younger Italy.

Romano sighed heavily and took a glum bite out of his pizza. He was having dinner by himself that night - afterwards, he would clean up, take a bath, and go to bed straight away. It wasn't as if he had anything better to do. As he chewed, he carried on thinking about the other nations, Feliciano, and himself.

He loved Feliciano, of course. They had never been with one another for a long time, thus making their relationship somewhat awkward; but they were brothers, they had common interests (fewer than Romano would have liked, but still), and they had to look out for one another. Feliciano had his faults, he obviously lacked common sense, but the older brother was perfectly fine with accepting that. What he didn't understand was what the other nations _saw_ in his young brother's childish behaviour that made them like the latter more. From all Romano could see, the younger Italy was so unbelievably ditzy that he couldn't be of any immediate use to anyone.

But then he had always categorised things into either 'useful or 'useless'. This included objects, people and and entire nations - as sorry as he felt thinking it, right now Feliciano was straddling the border between being of some competence and being absolutely useless, and he had to frequently struggle with his thoughts.

It wouldn't have been so bad, Romano thought bitterly as he finished his pizza, if Feliciano hung out with him more.

* * *

He supposed that it wasn't the younger Italy's fault that he had grown to love other nations far more than Romano. After all, they had been apart for a long time - Romano couldn't really think of very happy times they had shared during childhood. And now they were adults and occupied the same living space as brothers, the older brother could see how far apart the two had become. Feliciano was more than eager to be with Romano, of course, but due to their differences, the older brother just found him irritating and pushed him away. It wasn't either of the brothers' fault that Romano simply couldn't sympathize with the other's feelings half the time - it just ended, usually, with Romano snapping at the other.

No wonder Feliciano found more comfort amongst the Axis.

Japan looked after Feliciano in a calm, controlled manner, housekeeping wherever the Axis happened to be at that moment and listening to the other's ramblings. Japan seldom said anything, but Romano could see that there was a kind of mutual understanding and acceptance between him and Feliciano; they did their best for one another. But whenever Japan wasn't around, or busy with something else, the younger Italy turned to the other member of the Axis - Germany.

Romano sighed heavily and rubbed at his brow as he filled up the tub, ready for his bath; thinking about Germany often gave him nothing more than headaches and a horrible sinking feeling of hatred, and this time was no exception. Yes, Feliciano was famous for being Germany's one true friend; he was always around the blond man, doing something-or-another. Germany often treated him firmly, and certainly in a less patient manner than Japan - but nevertheless, the younger brother seemed to enjoy his company more. And Romano had seen more than enough hints between the two to know that the taller man was rather sweet on Feliciano; but the older Italy simply _didn't get it_. They couldn't be more different if they'd tried - what did they even _see_ in one another?

Germany was strict, firm, and cold. Feliciano was fun-loving, bright and cheerful. They were total opposites, and Romano had figured that eventually, the difference would grate on each others' nerves. But that hadn't happened yet, and considering how well the two got along, it wasn't likely to happen any time soon. Sure, they had their rifts, but never ones so severe that they stopped talking to one another or purposefully hurt each other; Romano had always done his best to persuade Feliciano that Germany didn't actually like him, but it had always been disproved.

The blond man was all Feliciano talked about nowadays.

And it hurt Romano that his brother was far more willing to praise and trust Germany than him. Whenever Romano got tetchy with him, Feliciano would scoot next to Germany's side, hugging him in fear and crying out the taller man's name - _'Doitsu, Doitsu~!'_ - and effectively block the older Italy from him. If something good happened, the younger brother would run off to tell Germany first, even if the tall man was miles away and Romano was sitting mere inches from him. Feliciano also took to eating wurst and potatoes with great gusto, often taking the opportunity to snuggle next to the blond man whilst he was cooking. All of this he only did for Germany, and never for anyone else - not even his own brother. He thought of how his younger brother would cuddle next to Germany in bed. While they were always clothed and kept a small distance from one another whilst asleep, Feliciano would always shower the blond man with chaste kisses; he would press his lips against both of Germany's cheeks, sometimes to the forehead, always smiling sweetly. And more than once Romano had seen Germany return those kisses - with him, it was usually no more than just one kiss on both of the younger Italy's cheeks, but it seemed to mean the whole world to Feliciano.

He knew all of this because he'd often gone to pick up Feliciano from Germany's house; he happened to witness a lot of those moments in the process. Of course, Romano had never went willingly; only when he felt that Feliciano really had to come home, or if he had been informed that the younger brother was up to no good. At the beginning, sometimes - just sometimes, calls like that would come from Japan, and Romano would be tempted to never turn up and leave the younger Italy there. It would certainly serve the brat right if he couldn't come home, the older Italy would think to himself smugly whenever he entertained that train of thought. But he had never done so, and after a few times of going to Germany's house, he'd abandoned that thought for ever. The truth of the matter was that Feliciano was happy in Germany's company, and leaving him there was not at all a punishment. Now he was just eager to get his younger brother out of there.

He remembered a time when he'd called for Feliciano in front of Germany's lawn and the latter had failed to turn up. Suspicious, he had walked around the entire house for a while - until he caught sight of the two in the bathroom. Feliciano had gotten himself filthy for some reason, maybe rolling around a field with that little cat of his, and Germany had put him in a bubble bath. Romano had been too busy being indignant to remember what they were saying; he still to this day didn't know what had been stopping him from breaking through the window and murdering Germany right there and then. But he'd carried on watching, and what he'd seen was nothing short of surprising.

Germany had been frowning, saying something to the younger Italy, apparently scolding him for getting himself into another mess. He was outside the tub, dressed in his training gear, his bare muscled arms coated lightly with soapsuds, gazing irritatedly at Feliciano every now and then. But Germany's touches seemed gentle enough, if a little awkward, and when he scrubbed the other's face clean, he had done so with true tenderness. What really shook Romano was, however, the way Feliciano had been grinning all the way through the process. He kept on smiling, a look of immense fondness and affection on his face, letting himself be washed clean. He didn't seem to mind at all that he was sitting naked in a tub and being taken care of by the tall, intimidating Germany; rather, he had looked as if he were truly enjoying the experience. When Feliciano was all clean, he had leapt out of the tub straight away, grasping the taller man in a tight embrace.

"Ve~ _grazie,_ Doitsu!"

Romano couldn't really remember what the blond man had said, for he had been far too busy being shocked, but still recalled one of Germany's responses: "_Mein Gott, _Italia_,_ _put some clothes on_!"

* * *

And that hadn't been the only moment between Feliciano and Germany that Romano had witnessed. In fact, that moment had only been one out of plenty; in the most recent one that the older Italy had seen, Feliciano had challenged Germany to a snowball fight out of nowhere. Despite protests from the latter, he had been bombarded with snowballs merely seconds later - this led to a playful brawl, with a surprisingly enthusiastic Germany jumping into the scene. Together they'd run around, thrown snow at one another, all the while laughing their heads off. Romano had watched them from a distance, contemplating all the time whether to jump in and drag Feliciano away or let them have their fun - _well, all they have is fun anyway_, he had thought gloomily, but nevertheless he didn't jump in to break them up. They were too happy, too blissful, and he couldn't quite bring himself to break that up.

They hadn't gone back indoors straight away after the snowball fight was over. Germany and Feliciano had laid upon the snow for a while, making idle conversation, eventually culminating with the younger Italy cuddling up to the other until Japan started calling for them. But that short moment together had been perfect, even in the ever-pessimistic Romano's eyes; they were so comfortable, so warm, so - _content_. (Germany's smile was far less frightening than Romano had initially thought - it was quite nice, in fact, and softened his features.) The older brother remembered little else after that, but could still painfully recall the feeling of utter emptiness he had felt when he'd looked upon Feliciano and Germany. He was sure the two had their rifts and arguments sometimes, but back then he hadn't seen anything except joy and happiness from both men.

Romano couldn't stand it. He felt so _inferior_, so _jealous_, so - _unimportant_ that he felt that he was going mad. He could endure not being treated as a part of Italy, he could stand staying at home while everyone else was having fun, but he couldn't ever get used to the fact that his brother loved someone far more than him. And this wouldn't have been so bad either if Germany had been a smug, distasteful bastard, for then Romano could have taken pleasure in hating him more and not feel guilty about it. But the fact was that he wasn't. The older brother knew all too well that despite his constant threats to back off, and his attempts to sabotage the two's relationship, Germany had never hated Romano and would likely not start anytime soon.

The older Italy never seemed to succeed in making Germany hate him, either. Whenever the blond man answered Feliciano's occasional distress calls and arrived on the scene, he would usually just do what he had come to do and leave; he obviously didn't want to anger the older brother, and Romano could never find the time nor reason to berate Germany quite enough. Many of those calls started when Romano snapped for some reason and started taking it all out on his brother - afterwards, Feliciano would turn away from his brother, tell Germany how amazing he was with a smile, and wouldn't he like to stay for dinner?

Romano had seen enough of the two to know that yes, Germany very much wanted to stay with the younger Italy. But he had never taken up the offer, never even once; just a polite refusal, a friendly goodbye, and then he would be off to do some more work. Obviously he was keeping an eye out for Romano, and didn't want further conflicts. And this knowledge - that Germany actually somewhat cared for Romano's feelings - was the precise reason why the older brother couldn't just brush the man off without making himself the villain.

He didn't like that at all. Deep inside, he knew Germany was concerned for him, and that he just wished for their one-sided conflict to cease. Romano himself had contemplated not hating Germany for a long time - but every time, he had failed. The blond man was simply too kind to Feliciano, far kinder than Romano had ever been to him; and worse, whenever the older brother looked at them together he was reminded rather painfully of how it could have been _him_ being held and loved by someone. Feliciano and he looked so alike, and the younger Italy fitted so well with others - it was endlessly frustrating for Romano. He saw his younger brother cuddling up to others all the time - Romano had never been the social one, and every time he saw Feliciano being affectionate with someone, he couldn't help but wish that he was loved like that. But the care directed towards him was nowhere near the amount Feliciano was showered with, especially from Germany - as a result, he carried on hating, because that was the only way he could retaliate.

Even Antonio, his best friend and his closest acquaintance, wasn't an exception to preferring the younger Italy. The older brother knew that when he had been younger, Antonio had wished that he was looking after Feliciano instead, for the younger one had been far more polite and obedient. Obviously this wasn't the case now - but the fact that at one point, even Antonio would have much preferred Feliciano than him was still painful to Romano.

He groaned and slipped into the sheets, burying his head in the pillow. All this misery would only give him nightmares if he carried on; so he stopped thinking, and closed his eyes, falling into a light, uneasy sleep.

* * *

Romano's morning did not start off well.

He woke to find that there was someone in the kitchen, making pasta; when he went over, he found that Feliciano had donned a chef's hat from somewhere and was cooking breakfast. Romano didn't bother asking how and when the younger brother had got in - he was back home, and that was what mattered.

"Ve~ you're awake!" Feliciano said sweetly as he stirred something in a pot. "I'm making pasta."

"I noticed," Romano said coldly, although deep inside he felt a sort of appreciation for the gesture. "how come you're here anyway?"

The younger brother simply smiled again, draining the water from the pasta and pouring the sauce over it; he mixed some spices and olive oil in it, and began to mix it with care. "England's holding a meeting about trading. America's not invited, by the way. It shouldn't take us too long."

Although the older brother took some comfort in hearing that America wasn't involved (meetings with him took _hours_), he still had an urge to throw something and scream when he heard the word 'meeting'. It was definitely not what he needed at this point. "_Dio mio_! We just had one yesterday, for God's sake! Can't they have enough meetings or something - look, do I really need to go to that? Can't we arrange something else?"

"But America's not there, and it'll be over quickly," Feliciano repeated, ladling the pasta onto two dishes, oblivious of the distraught his words had brought upon Romano. "now eat up. We don't want to be late."

"Since when did you care about being late?" The older Italy shot back, snatching his plate away; he was now far too displeased to say a thank you to his younger brother. "And why do I need to go anyway? _You're_ the better one at trading."

Feliciano didn't answer either of those questions, instead picking up his plate and humming as he left the kitchen; Romano stood there, staring angrily at his brother, having figured out all too soon why the other didn't want to be late. Germany, of course - Feliciano's beloved _Germany_. He'd be at the meeting as well, and obviously the younger Italy wanted to see him as early as possible.

Just great.


	2. The Meeting

**Author's Note:** Here's the second chapter of 'Tristezza'. I was meaning for this story to be a twoshot, but this section turned out longer than I thought, so it's going to be a threeshot. And thanks for the feedback! I'm glad I'm getting Romano somewhat right... I hope.

Anyway, this is the angst chapter. Lots of screaming, tears, and inane chatter is involved. It also contains slight America bashing, so America-fans, please keep in mind that I have nothing against him. I like pretty much everyone in Hetalia. Don't hurt me. O.o

But mad as it seems, I actually don't like Romano that much. Beats me why I'm writing a fic about him, and putting passion into it - it feels great to write about him, for some reason. Maybe it's because he's a great device alongside Germany/N. Italy or Spain.

Please enjoy.

* * *

This meeting was not turning out well at all.

The older Italy had found, upon arrival, that Feliciano's words had not been entirely true (although to be fair, it hadn't been a 'lie' per se). They had arrived at a fair time and many nations had gathered already; Feliciano immediately took the seat closest to Germany, chatting away happily at him, while Romano lounged in the seat beside his brother. But that would have been somewhat bearable - much to the older brother's disgust, he found that Spain was was absent due to illness (despite it being an Europe-central meeting). How was he going to be able to sit through this?

To make it worse, America came charging in halfway through the meeting.

"Someone must have misplaced my invitation, England!" he exclaimed cheerfully, dragging a spare seat from the corner of the room and settling himself down next to the disgruntled man. "There's no way you guys can have a proper meeting without the leader, right?"

"America, we're discussing _European _trade relations. Your presence is not needed," England snapped, clearly very irritated at the other; his plan hadn't gone well, and now nothing was going to get done. "why, you aren't even a part of Europe! If we needed you here, we'd have invited you."

This went completely ignored by America, who simply flashed everyone a bright smile and began to present his views energetically; he had broken up the serious atmosphere, and the meeting soon descended into absolute chaos - England slumped back, glaring at the man next to him. Germany, who had been watching him quietly, leaned over.

"Do you want me to throw him out?"

"Don't even bother," England muttered back, still frowning. "you think he's going to give up that easily? And I don't want really want him insulting you and making all of this even worse."

"_Pourqoui pas_?" France put in from the opposite side, having heard the conversation amongst America's inane chatter. "why don't you drag him out, _Allemagne_? Maybe we can get something done if we get _Am__é__rique_ out of here. Then again," he smirked. "I don't exactly mind seeing you suffer, Arthur."

"What are you saying, you stupid pervert!"

Germany sighed heavily and buried his face into his hands, feeling a migraine form; now that everything was out of order, he no longer cared if they reached a conclusion or not. He just wanted to go back home. Not surprisingly, this notion was shared by others in the meeting: Russia had gone from paying attention to fiddling with his scarf and staring blankly into thin air, while Belarus stood behind his chair and watched. Austria had pulled out a pen and was composing something on a notepad to ease his obvious annoyance with the whole situation. Poland and Prussia had gone as far as actually falling asleep, their heads slumped forwards - and then there were the Italy brothers, who were feeling rather different things. Feliciano was obviously bored, but had Germany next to him to talk and snuggle up to - Romano got little to no attention from him, and merely sat there, feeling himself slowly go insane.

"Hey, cut that out, lovebirds," America was saying to Feliciano and Germany, having paused in the middle of his long rant. They had been whispering to one another, but now they were looking up, looking rather peeved that they were interrupted. "not in an official meeting, you two! Beats me how you get anything done without me in charge."

Romano ground his teeth quietly and forced himself to sit still. America's rant, the absence of Spain, and Germany and Feliciano sharing secrets right beside him - it was driving him half mad. His sanity was barely hanging by a thread, and the older brother focused on staring at the table so that nothing else would aggravate him. And this worked - for a few minutes.

"Can we get onto the issue of trades now, America?" England had finally cut in, having ended the argument with France by hissing a couple of curses at him; but nonetheless he looked extremely annoyed to say the least. "you know, what the meeting was meant to be about in the first place?"

America laughed. "But that's what I've been doing all this time, England! You were simply being a bit too slow to follow with what I was saying," (England clenched his fists at this) "but just for your sake, I'll condense it down. What I've been proposing is that I'll increase the scale of imports brought in from all of you - so that you can export more and get more money! Baby steps, but it's all towards your good!"

"_No_," multiple nations said collectively, actually making the man flinch slightly. England saw the chance for an upper hand and eagerly jumped to take it. "We can't just increase overall production because you _demand_ it, America. At that rate, most of what we make will go towards you, with little left for us!"

"But you'll get money!"

"_That's not the point_!" Prussia finally shouted, thumping his fist on the table. "All you're doing is putting Europe at a disadvantage! Your plan is suicidal - we'd all starve!"

The blond man stared. "Why are you getting into this, Gilbert, you aren't even a proper nation right now-"

Romano stared fixedly at the table throughout all of the madness, breathing in and out very slowly to keep himself somewhat sane. As long as he kept out of this, he would be all right; and his plan was working so far, so that was a little bit of encouragement. He kept his face blank, and his posture straight, saying absolutely nothing.

"-completely useless, Poland, can't you see the good it'd do to you-"

"-Hey, don't you ignore the awesome me, you bastard!-"

"I don't really care, it's fine with me! Trade or no trade, everyone will become one with Mother Russia!"

Breathe in. Breathe out.

* * *

America's plans were being shot to the ground, and even he could see that much. He fell quiet for a few moments to looked over at the whole table, searching for someone who was either an ally or at the very least not speaking out against him - his gaze then fell onto Germany and the Italy brothers, who had kept surprisingly quiet through the fiasco.

"You haven't contributed your opinion, you three," he yelled over the din, causing a few to go quiet and stare in their direction. "now quiet down, guys! We'll do this diplomatically - why don't we all sit down and go around the table, starting with... Germany?"

This was the first sensible thing America had said during the whole meeting, and the nations were willing to acknowledge that much. They would do all they could to reject his plan, but there would be no harm in doing it without shouting. Germany nodded and stood up, facing America directly.

"Your plan is potentially dangerous for all of us. For my part, I'm more than happy to import materials and goods to you, but the fact is that I am unable to increase production so quickly according to your demand. Unless you propose a deadline and provide support towards the increase in production rate, and unless it is _reasonable_," (England and France both nodded and smirked) "I cannot approve of your plan. That's perfectly fair, _nein_?"

Germany sat down, and was met with applause from everyone except Romano and America - the latter cleared his throat awkwardly, and moved on to Feliciano. "And your opinion, Italy?"

"Huh? Um... okay!" Feliciano exclaimed, not having paid attention to what America had said before - he was far too busy admiring Germany. Romano heard it all, and clenched a fist; couldn't Feliciano contribute a proper opinion for once? And to think he'd been dragged here by his ditzy younger brother, who hadn't been paying attention in the first place! It made his blood boil.

"Thank you, Italy!" America said loudly, now sounding truly grateful. "Well, judging by what Italy said, it's not as if it's going to make any difference even if you all reject my plan. We'll get there eventually. But let's carry on - what do _you_ think, Romano?"

That.

Was.

It.

"_Vaffanculo_!" Romano finally shouted, bolting up from his chair and throwing the folder he had across the room. America yelped and ducked; the folder very narrowly missed Russia's head, and it was immediately taken for granted from everyone that Ivan would take revenge for it later. But this was the last thing on Romano's mind right now. Feliciano went deathly pale as he heard the curse; he got up as well, frantically grabbing onto the other's arm with cries of _'fratello_!'. The older Italy snatched his arm away, pushing his brother roughly back to his seat. "I don't care! I never cared! Why would you want to know my opinion anyway, if it matters _so damn little_-"

"Romano," America stammered, having not expected this reaction. "please, do calm yourself..."

"_It's not Romano_, _you bastard_," the older Italy screamed, causing the blond man to whimper and duck down again. "if you're going to call my brother Italy, I should be called that too! Or why not call him Veneziano if you insist on calling me Romano? Either way, stop treating me as if I'm just some kind of lackey, because it's just _pissing me off_!"

The older Italy paused to catch his breath, staring around the entire room with wide, deranged eyes. Every face in the room (even _Russia's_) was frozen in shock; Romano was famous for being snappy, but he had always been too much of a coward to stand up to anything.

Until now.

"_Andate tutti a 'fanculo_!" Romano shouted, and then proceeded to storm out of the room, ignoring his brother's pleas to calm down. Something inside his mind, right from the moment he had bolted out of his seat to the second that he walked out of the door, was screaming that he was doing something absolutely horrendous and illogical to boot. He had walked out of an official meeting, had sworn violently at all nations present, embarrassed his younger brother - and had achieved nothing except for a horrible, sinking feeling of dread. A high price to pay for an adrenalin rush and one minute of total attention.

And yet he kept on walking. It was not the slightest bit logical - he didn't have any of his things with him (he'd left his coat and bag behind, and thus possessed no keys, money, identification or even anything to keep him warm), there wasn't anything waiting for him outside, and right now his best bet was to go back to the meeting and apologize. However, Romano was far too proud, too sick of being treated as an outsider, and had no intentions of going back even to his younger brother. They could all go to hell for all he cared.

"_Warten_!" He heard an urgent voice calling behind him, getting closer and closer, and inwardly winced. Great, it was _him_, the ever-righteous Germany; he was probably only coming after Romano to lecture him about his behaviour. _Well, so be it_, the older brother thought, and spun to face the blond man. It only struck him then that Germany hadn't been running to catch up with him; rather, he had been striding towards Romano quickly, implying that he hadn't been far behind. Germany had followed the older Italy immediately after he had walked out - he had obviously not been prompted by the others to do so, doing it all on his own will. Romano had to admit that he was impressed for a second, but then scowled as he stared at the taller man in front of him.

"Come to laugh at me." It wasn't a question, just a statement; Romano took that Germany might have come to jeer at him as fact.

_"Nein_. I have no intentions of that. I came to ask you what was wrong, because I'm concerned for you. Also, Feliciano is crying and we can comfort him if you'd tell us what was bothering you."

"Whatever," the older brother scoffed, turning away. "it's not _me_ you've come to comfort. It's my stupid brother - your precious _Italy_. Just get out of my sight, potato freak." He began to walk away, but Germany reached out and clamped a hand on the other's shoulder as he began to walk away. He honestly hadn't been expecting any other reaction from the older Italy; he had dealt with Romano far too long to not understand his bitterness.

"_Lovino_," he said with a forceful tone, startling the other man. "you are also Italia."

This was definitely something the older man hadn't expected; he froze in place for a while, dozens of thoughts rushing through his head - had Germany really called him _'Lovino'_? Had the man _acknowledged_ him as part of Italy? He was admittedly surprised, but he tried to hide it. A compliment from Germany meant nothing, he told himself, although he couldn't help but feel guilty for thinking that.

"Hmph. Looks like you're the only one with some sense," Romano sneered, turning to face the other again. "at least you had the courtesy to address me as Italy. I wasn't aware you considered me to be that much. And now you've finished sucking up to me, why don't you run back to the meeting and cheer up Veneziano? He loves you far more than he loves me, doesn't he?"

Germany winced; that comment was surprisingly hurtful, coming from Romano. He did love Feliciano, and the feeling was mutual - but the older Italy putting it that way was something he _really_ hadn't needed to hear. "Don't be ridiculous. He's your brother. Only you can calm him down."

"Bullshit!" Romano hissed, glaring at Germany. He actually took one menacing step forward, something he had never quite dared to do without being provoked - but when the other flinched slightly and stepped back, he felt a sort of angry pride. "Do you think I'm blind? Do you think I don't see you two frolicking around whenever I go to pick him up? Veneziano has more fun with you than he's ever had with me - he spends more time at your place then ours! Why do you think that is? Huh? Why?"

"Lovino-"

"_Perché?_"

The blond man sighed heavily and drew a hand over his eyes. "... I don't know what to say to that."

"Damn straight," the older man retorted, sounding oddly triumphant. "can't come up with anything? I didn't expect you to. So why don't you get away from me, potato bastard - save your breath for Veneziano. Better than wasting it on me."

Germany bit his lip lightly and frowned; this was getting vaguely irritating, and although he hadn't expected Romano to be an easy one to talk to, he hadn't imagined that it would be anything like this. But he was here to solve a problem, and solve it he would. "You are also half of Italia, Lovino, and regardless of what you may think, I care for both halves equally. I love Feliciano very much - but if you're upset, he is as well, and it's not a pleasant thing to see." Romano turned his back on the taller man, but Germany carried on talking. "I don't care what you think of me. I don't even care about you attacking and insulting me. All I care is that you provide Feliciano with the comfort that he needs, and you gain reassurance of your own."

Romano physically staggered with those words; he took one stumbling step forwards, a laugh escaping his lips. He didn't even quite know why he had laughed - in his mind, Germany's words were superfluous: lurdiculous, and he thought to himself as much. But he hadn't laughed at what the blond man had said, that was clear enough; it was too serious, and far too hard-hitting for Romano to laugh at, and he knew that much. However, that didn't stop him from verbally retaliating. "Ha ha... like you really care! Is that what you did to my brother as well? Fell head over heels for your smooth talk, did he?"

The blond man looked at him, now looking extremely upset and confused (for his standards). "... Lovino, can't we be at least acquaintances, if not friends? I'd rather that we were on the same side."

"Shut up!" Romano snarled, clenching his fist. "I hate you. Ever since I've looked upon your smug face, I've hated you. I don't care how kind you are to me, _you can't change that_!"

He began striding away; he had to put as much distance between them as possible. He couldn't stand listening to Germany any longer - the taller man's words were simultaneously not unkind and not untrue, and Romano didn't want any more of it. No more kindness, no more persuasion, no more-

The older brother had barely gone twenty paces when he was stopped by a pair of arms wrapping around his waist. Then Romano's mind went completely blank.

He didn't know what was going on anymore. Here was Germany, _holding_ him tight; Romano was yelling something, but he hardly knew what he was saying. All he could remember was screaming _Let go, you potato-eating bastard, let go _- but even that lasted only a few seconds before he went limp in the other's embrace. He just stayed there, not resisting, allowing himself to be hugged by someone he considered his worst enemy.

When Germany finally let go, both men were blushing - although for slightly different reasons. Germany's face was flushed with the effort of actually keeping Romano in place, and embarrassment that he'd had to display such an act to prove his point. Romano was blushing because the hug had felt nice - but at the same time, he'd had a vision of his younger brother in Germany's arms. Feliciano, sweet Feliciano - almost exactly like Romano in silhouette and appearance, but infinitely more kind and accepting. A part of Romano felt that the blond man would much rather have Feliciano in his arms than him, and that the older Italy was just a fake, a stand-in of sorts. So close and yet so far.

It threw him further into despair.

The taller man had stood there silently, waiting for the other to do something. He'd expected a violent lashing out, or at the very least a fair dose of cursing from Romano - but nothing happened. The other just stood there, completely motionless and silent, and Germany grew uneasy.

"Lovino?"

He placed a hand on the other's shoulders, only to see Romano's knees buckle from underneath him. The latter collapsed forwards, kneeling on the floor, head bent and supporting himself with his arms. Germany was momentarily frightened, wondering if he'd done something wrong, but then saw that the older Italy's shoulders were shaking.

Romano was crying.

Germany stood by and watched silently as the older Italy went through a breakdown; he slammed his fists on the floor, crying, tears running down his face unashamedly. For too long he had been cast aside, shown little affection, held in almost no regard whatsoever. And Germany, the one Romano had hated the most for taking Feliciano away from him - had given him a hug. He had called him _Italy_. It was far too much for Romano to handle right now. It was all too confusing, too sudden, and he couldn't comprehend it.

He cried for almost ten minutes. By then he had gone from throwing a screaming fit to sobbing pathetically on the floor; seeing that Romano was no longer capable of injuring himself or Germany, the blond man then stepped forwards and knelt down.

"I'm guessing you have no intentions to go back to the meeting?"

"N-no..." Romano sobbed, none of his prior dignity left. He could have snapped at Germany so easily for asking something so obvious, but he was too disheartened to do so; Germany nodded and stood up, walking quickly back towards the meeting without a backward glance. Romano just watched him go, not attempting to call him back or leave the hallway; his tears and anger had exhausted him so thoroughly that he couldn't even stand up. He leaned heavily against the wall, closing his eyes, pressing his forehead to the cool surface and trying to get some grip on himself.

What was he going to do now? How was he going to get home?

Romano needn't have worried, however, because Germany came back after only a couple of minutes. Underneath his arm was the other's coat and bag, which he then set down in front of Romano before kneeling down again.

"I've got your things here, Lovino. I've also ended the meeting, but no one there is set to leave yet - you don't need to worry about being seen."

The older Italy didn't say anything except a small 'I see', and reached out for his coat, awkwardly putting it on. He then picked up his bag and slung it over one shoulder, but remained sitting. Germany watched all of this, convinced that Romano had calmed down, and continued. "I understand you don't want to interact with the other nations right now. But would you at least like to see Feliciano? He's stopped crying - and he wants to see you, I could bring him over..."

Romano shook his head. "No... I'd rather... do without him right now... I just want to go home..."

The blond man nodded, again not entirely surprised with this response. "Do you want to go back now, or after the others? I'll make sure you're not seen either way."

This time an answer didn't come; Romano buried his face in his knees, closing his eyes tightly and wishing for the pounding in his head to go away. A part of him wished that Germany would give him another hug, so that he might relax and regain some of his strength, but he dared not voice it. And another part of him wished that the other would just shut up and leave him alone; but that was even less likely than the former option.

He felt so tired.

"Lovino? _Lovino_...?" He heard Germany calling him, but the words sounded drawn-out and distant; Romano couldn't stop his eyes closing. _So be it_, he thought - he was far too exhausted to deal with this any more, and quite frankly just wanted to collapse right there. That way he wouldn't have to face the world any longer.

He proceeded to do exactly that, and his world went dark.


	3. The Recovery

**Author's Note:** Gee, thank you for the reviews, guys! Seeing as I am so new to the fandom, I'd been thinking that my characterization of Romano wasn't all that accurate and that this fic would end up being buried x.x But I loved every second of working on this, and it's partly because I had quite a bit of support. Thank you very much.

Well, the threeshot ends here. Romano gets better, I promise. :P And this chapter is where most of the Germany x Romano bits come in - it's not blatant, but the hints are there, and I feel that it's been good practice. Maybe one day I'll write a fic with actual Germany x Romano instead of hinting around, teehee.

It's such a rare pairing...

Enjoy the last chapter.

* * *

Romano woke up in a bed that wasn't his.

He blinked and drew a hand over his eyes, wincing; his head was no longer hurting, and the room was darkened, but he had done so purely as a reflex. He had had an uneasy sleep, and Romano was sensitive to being in an unfamiliar place; already he felt some kind of panic setting in, wondering why he was in this bed. But then he caught the distant scent of pasta being made, and relaxed - wherever he was, it couldn't be that bad.

Now that his panic was settled, Romano sat up and started contemplating just where exactly he was. What had happened before he'd fallen asleep? His mind flashed back to the meeting, America's arrogance, that feeling of utter irritation and-

"_Oh, Dio mio_!" the older Italy's eyes widened and he clutched at his head as everything flooded back. He'd thrown a fit, stormed out, and gone into hysterics in front of _Germany_, of all nations. He groaned, burying his head deeper into his hands. His humiliation was utterly complete now - no longer could he do anything to Germany, and all that trouble had solved nothing. How could he hold his head up to anyone now?

Where was he, more importantly? If he wasn't in his own house, then where else could he be? The smell of pasta was growing stronger, so he wasn't very likely to be in completely unfamiliar grounds - Romano sank back down onto the bed and buried his head onto the pillow, groaning quietly. Whatever had happened during the time he had been unconscious, combined with the breakdown he had gone through, he was never going to live it down. That was absolutely certain. He lay there, staring at the blank ceiling; now that he wasn't occupying himself with thoughts of what was going on and what he had done, other things were beginning to drift into his mind. For the first time since he had awoken, he could actually hear sounds and voices from outside the room - and make out what they were saying.

"That's too much water," a low voice said, followed by the sound of water splashing into something. "there you go, that's fine..."

"Ve~ but do you think my brother will be awake in time to have some of this?" Another voice, higher in pitch but sounding far more concerned and expressive, joined in - one that Romano recognized immediately as Feliciano's. Something clattered; it was drowned out quickly by something else. "I'm sorry, Doitsu... I'm not doing any of this right. I'm just..."

"I know, Feliciano," the low voice replied, and then Romano understood that this was an exchange between Germany and his younger brother - and that he was in Germany's house. "you're worried about him. I am too. As for when he's going to wake up - well, I wouldn't rush him. Lovino's been through a lot recently."

Another reluctant 'Ve~' followed, but Feliciano didn't argue further. Romano only then realized what kind of power Germany had over the younger Italy; gruff, firm, but at the same time kind and persuasive. The blond man had absolutely no intentions to hurt either Feliciano nor Romano, and he could appreciate that now - even just a little. The older brother shifted a little on the bed, now more curious as to what they would say.

"My brother's not been himself lately," Feliciano had spoken up after a short silence. "every time I go home, he shouts at me and he's been more snappy. I know he can be mean a lot, but it's not like him to be so..." A pause. "... _distant_. And today was just - well, what do you think, Doitsu? Do you think he's just going through a phase?"

"I don't know." The other replied. "But either way, he needs rest and some time to think - I could see that much."

"Do you think I've done something wrong? And that he hates me?"

A sudden silence fell, except for the sound of the pots sizzling. Romano felt his face burning in shame - he had let his brother see his weak side, and had even made him think that the older Italy hated him. This was certainly not what he had ever intended - he had thought he could keep his feelings concealed, but it seemed that Feliciano was far more aware than he had let on.

"_Mein Gott_," Germany breathed out in disbelief. "_nein_, Feliciano. He would never hate you. Don't you think like that, _ever_. Do you hear me? Don't _ever_ think that way."

"But..."

"Come here."

Another bout of silence followed. Romano leaned further forwards, straining his ears to hear anything unusual; but he heard nothing for a few seconds until his younger brother murmured a small, shy 'Doitsu...'. Judging by what he had heard, Germany was giving Feliciano a hug - Romano fell back on the bed, letting his arm dangle over the side, no longer listening. He'd heard enough to assume what was going on, and how the two thought of him now.

As he contemplated his situation, he felt something warm brushing against his hand. Romano scarcely knew what it was; but when he craned his head and looked over, he saw that it was a large, sleeping dog.

'_Cazzo_!' he thought furiously, ducking back under the covers. He'd known that Germany kept dogs, three of them, for Feliciano had told him; but never had he ever thought that he could come face-to-face with one of them. Romano had never hated dogs - in fact he didn't mind them at all - but having a large one just underneath the bed was simply unnerving.

So did that mean that Germany had put him in a room with his dogs? Who in their right mind would put a guest to sleep in the same room as a large dog?

A quick glance around the room (his eyes had adjusted now) told him that this was probably not the case. There were too many personal-looking items to be in a room reserved for dogs; no, this was probably a room that had been given to Feliciano, and the dog was simply there by accident. That had to be it. The two men didn't sleep next to each other all the time - Germany sometimes worked nights when the younger Italy was around, and Feliciano wouldn't take siestas in the other's bed. So Germany had probably given the younger Italy a room of his own. Slightly more reassured by the fact that he was, not, in fact in the 'dog room' - Romano peeked out again and gazed at the dog beneath the bed. It looked like a Golden Retriever - not the fiercest breed at all. Surely if this dog was within Feliciano's room, it would mean that the dog was used to being with the younger brother, and then that would probably mean that it wouldn't hurt Romano.

Romano was far too busy thinking about this to even notice that the atmosphere outside the room had changed. The smell of pasta had lessened considerably, and now the voices weren't discussing Romano; he listened, figuring that it would help him forget about the sleeping dog.

"Ve~ Doitsu, I've rounded two of your dogs up, but Aster's missing."

... All right, maybe it wouldn't.

"That's not good. All three of them were most definitely here when we came back, and that hasn't been a long time..."

"Well, Aster's not in my room," Romano froze at those words, quickly glancing around himself - this room wasn't Feliciano's? "I've checked everywhere else except for your room, and they're all empty."

Germany let out a small 'hmm'. "Romano's in mine, and I don't want to disturb his sleep. I'll look outside, Feliciano. You stay and keep watch here."

Feliciano answered with a sweet little 'Ve~'. "It's okay! I'll go. I needed some exercise anyway."

"Since when did you decide to be active?" But Germany sounded humoured, and there was a considering pause before he resumed speaking. "well, if you're sure. I wouldn't want my dogs lost in the dark. But don't you lose yourself, either. If you can't find Aster within half an hour, come back_ immediately_. Do you understand?"

"I will, Doitsu!"

With that, there was the sound of running footsteps, and a far-away door slammed shut somewhere. Romano figured that Feliciano had bolted out of the front door in search for the dog; but he had also noted, from that brief conversation, that Germany hadn't seemed too concerned. Maybe things like that happened all too often. Hopefully Germany would be able to get the dog out of that room quickly - all Romano had to do was to pretend to be asleep, and everything would be good. But contrary to his assumptions, he didn't hear the blond man searching around the house - there had been only a few shuffling footsteps, and Romano hadn't heard any more.

But forget about the dog. He was in _Germany's_ room. That was far more important. He looked around for something of Feliciano's, maybe a coat or a picture, but found none - until his gaze fell on something on the dresser on the opposite wall that made it absolutely certain that he was in Germany's room. It took a while for him to figure out the outline, but it was most definitely a peaked cap that Germany wore during training sessions. He couldn't mistake the look of that cap anywhere. Romano sighed and fell back on the bed, only then realizing the significance of what he meant to Germany - the blond man quite obviously did care for him, even giving up some of his privacy to ensure his guest had the best bed in the house. That, once coupled with the less-than decent things Romano had said and done towards the man, drove the guilt home once and for all.

He was surprised that their impression of him was still vastly positive. After the way he'd behaved, he'd have expected Feliciano to be scared of him - and Germany to be stern, although he was doubting all he'd ever felt for Germany at the present moment anyway. Perhaps, although he didn't much like admitting it, he was wrong - maybe Germany was worth giving a chance, and maybe Feliciano cared far more for Romano than he'd thought.

Romano thought back to the image of the two locked in an embrace, and mentally replaced Feliciano's image with his own. The result made him feel strangely warm - Germany hugging him, as ludicrous as the idea had seemed, wasn't even close to 'bad'. He wouldn't mind another hug from the taller man at all - and this time, Romano wouldn't struggle. The whole thing was strange, considering he'd spent so much time hating Germany, and it had been overturned in just one day.

* * *

Romano waited for quite a while.

But Germany didn't show up. Romano didn't hear footsteps, or much evidence at all that Germany was even looking for his dog - he kept on gazing uneasily downwards, wondering if the dog was going to be woken up anytime soon. He didn't really want to think about what would ensue if that ever happened - maybe the dog would bark at him. Maybe maul him. Maybe drag him out of bed. Maybe_ anything_.

As he kept listening, he felt something warm brushing against his arm. He glanced down - and froze as he saw the Golden Retriever, now awake, staring inquisitively up at him.

"Eh... what-" The dog sniffed and licked his hand. "Chi-_chigii_~!"

Romano snatched his hand back and scooted backwards, pressing his back against the wall and holding the sheets close to him in an attempt to protect himself. But the dog wasn't fazed, and placed two paws on the bed, heaving its upper body up, and carried on staring at Romano. Through the darkness, the older Italy could see its large, curious eyes fixed on him (what was with him and getting stared at nowadays, anyway?), and was frightened - but as time passed, it struck him that the dog wasn't doing anything to harm him. In fact, the Golden Retriever withdrew first and settled back down on the floor, apparently having judged Romano to be an nonthreatening presence. He pushed away the blankets and slowly placed his hands on the edge of the bed, peeking over.

"Um... hey..." Romano mumbled, reaching for the dog and dangling his hand in front of its face. The dog reacted with a small whine, but quite happily gave the man another lick on his hand - this time, Romano actually managed to smile. This wasn't too bad, either. Its rough tongue tickled against his palm, and he squirmed, grinning despite himself.

"Good boy," he whispered, moving his hand up to stroke the dog's fur - it felt very warm and soft. Germany obviously kept his dogs well groomed. "... or girl. I'm not sure what gender you are."

The dog responded with a nuzzle. Chuckling, Romano rubbed its ears with a forefinger and thumb, enjoying the feel of the silky fur beneath his fingertips; the gentle creature pressed its nose against the older brother's palm, and he smiled. As he stroked the dog, he laid down fully, lazily gazing at the creature beneath him; he felt better, much better than he had felt in weeks, just lying underneath Germany's blankets and stroking his dog._ I'm somewhat liked here_, he thought, and that was also the most comforting thought he'd had in a while.

However, the moment didn't last that long.

"Aster?" The door opened; Romano instinctively withdrew unto bed, closing his eyes and letting his body go limp, giving the illusion that he was sleeping. But he was keeping his ears open all right - he couldn't see the silhouette of whoever was standing in the doorway, but heard Germany's voice clearly enough. "There you are. Come on now. Don't you bother Lovino."

The dog whimpered, but obeyed and trotted out of the room to its owner's side. Romano felt a little empty upon hearing the dog leave; it had been been a rather sweet creature to have around. However, Germany didn't leave immediately; there was the sound of some shuffling and coaxing from the blond man's part, along with a quiet insistence of 'stay, Aster'. And then just like that, Germany slipped into the room. Romano kept his breathing deep and even, and stayed absolutely still so that he would appear asleep - he didn't even dare to peek out the corner of his eye. He heard a small 'clink' of something being set down on the bedside table; but even though that was done, Germany still lingered, his gaze fixed upon Romano. The latter could feel the other's gaze boring into his back, and tensed, waiting for him to leave. But much to his surprise, Germany actually leaned _forwards_ - his large, warm hand rested upon Romano's head for a couple of seconds, stroking his hair gently, before he drew back once more.

Germany remained motionless for about ten seconds before he turned and left the room, closing the door.

As soon as the footsteps died away outside, Romano sat up, gazing around the darkness. His eyes adjusted quicker this time, and he looked at the bedside table, wondering what had been set down - and much to his surprise, found that it was a plate of something that had been covered with a bowl. There was also a fork lying by the side of it. He picked up the plate, set it down on his lap, and lifted up the bowl - and looked.

It was a large slice of tiramisu, beautifully made and with the most delectable smell.

He was sure having a lot of surprises that night.

Romano, much like Feliciano, was a lover of fine cuisine; any other day he'd have dismissed Germany's food as inferior in quality to theirs, but this was something different. He knew all too well that Feliciano wasn't too good at making cakes; so logic followed that the taller man would have made it. As pasta couldn't be given to Romano without the risk of it going cold, Germany had settled for something else. He'd even covered it with a bowl so that the cake would remain soft. The older Italy was stunned, and for a moment could do nothing except stare at the tiramisu; but then he realized that he hadn't eaten for hours and found himself quite hungry. Maybe he could swallow his dignity for the time being and have a bite - surely Germany's cakes couldn't be that bad, if it smelled this good.

Romano took up the fork and sank it into the surface of the cake, mentally noting how smooth and soft it was. He cut off a small piece and brought it to his mouth, chewing slowly; a rich, sweet taste of cocoa and cream assaulted his tongue, and he was pleasantly suprised. It was the best tiramisu he had ever tasted! And considering how difficult it was to make tiramisu _this_ delicious, Germany must indeed have a talent for making cakes. That was one thing to be not afraid of the blond man for. Romano carried on eating, savouring each bite slowly and admiring the taste until the slice was completely finished. When he was done, he put the plate and the fork back on the bedside table. He then sighed and snuggled deeper into the sheets, feeling full and very much content. The memory of Germany's touch on his head floated back to him, making him blush slightly; it had felt so _nice_, nice enough to let him forget all the bad things that had happened that day. Neither Feliciano nor Germany judged him for what had happened, his brother still loved him, and most of all, Germany cared. That was enough. The older Italy closed his eyes and let himself drift back into sleep, surrounded by Germany's blankets, his musk, and the sense of utter security that came with all of it.

It was still too early to like the tall man as much as Feliciano did. But maybe this was a kind of truce, and maybe he could now allow himself to start liking Germany more.

"I can see why Feliciano loves you so much," he thought sleepily, before he fell into another deep slumber. This time, it was peaceful.


End file.
